“Certainly. He understands you just as poorly. Perhaps even less. Between the two of you, only one sees his situation for what it is. You may not know him yet, but you can at least understand that control, can’t you? Do not wield this unfair advantage of yours lightly.”
Cyneden finishes the last of his tea and sets down his cup, frowning down at it in frustrated silence.
He shuts his eyes, and lets out a sigh like weary, chipped porcelain. “Forgive me, I believe I’ve caught myself acting overly presumptuous.”
The legs of his chair squawk indignantly against the floor as the silver elf rises to his feet. He floats off to the far end of the room, towards the back, near the waist-high divider walling the kitchen away from the rest of the shop. With no small amount of ruckus he unearths a bulky travelling bag, about three times Haalija’s size.
“It will not bother you overly much,” he asks, though a bit rhetorically all things considered, as he drifts this way and that through the myriad treasures, gathering them up into his arms as he passes by. “If I work while we continue to talk? I’m afraid your conviction has inspired me.”
“I have this wretched habit of sitting on my hands. My ward and I have decided to follow your example, and set out for St. Sholt ourselves. It has been long enough. And after all, you intend to– forgive me…”
A mischievous, knowing smile flits across his face. “To do exactly as this vev says, correct?”
The corner of Haali’s mouth quirks up into a smile that he quickly hides behind his teacup. “That is the intent, yes,” he replies, tapping his ragged nails in an off-beat patterns against the porcelain. “I’m afraid that I’m in dire need of your assistance, after all. In both your understanding of my friend’s home as well as the lead to the Garden. ...If you heard my argument with my companion, then you know that I am a green witch. Though I’m sure you knew this before.”
He pauses, eyeing the wares that Cyneden squirrels away into the bag. He can’t make much sense of it in the haze of exhaustion still settled around him, so he doesn’t try. Instead, he chooses to go back to his cake, taking another small bite. “And one so knowledgeable as yourself surely knows about the particular... ailment that green witches possess. Are you confident that I might be able to find some answers in St. Sholt?”
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